


All I Speak Is Static Screams

by geckoholic



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Midnighter (Comics)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Established Relationship, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Out, Sexual Content, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-15 04:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13605222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: “Good to know you haven't bought into it,” says Midnighter, marching ahead and throwing Dick a grin over his shoulder. “For a second you had me worried you might believe in ghost stories.”Aka the one where date night gets interrupted, ghosts are indeed real, and their white noise doesn't mix all too well with a certain someone's computer brain.





	All I Speak Is Static Screams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chantefable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantefable/gifts).



> So I sort of hooked onto your mentions of liking ghost stories and supernatural elements, and I hope the result is to your liking.
> 
> Beta-read by beta-lactamase and volavi. Thanks to you both!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "White Noise" by PVRIS.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Content warning in the end notes.**

Contrary to popular belief — and despite regular mocking by two thirds of his brothers — Dick really isn’t that attracted to Midnighter’s work getup. Much rather than in the coat and the cowl, Dick sees him like this: lying next to him in nothing but boxer briefs and a T-shirt, hair slightly disheveled, and an easy, somewhat lewd grin on his unobstructed face that might or might not be related to the hand he's got in Dick's underwear. His lips are red and spit-shiny, but that's the only outward proof he carries of the slow makeout session they've spent the past half on hour on; unlike him, Dick is a little out of breath, a little lightheaded, and it just means he's more appreciative of the sight in front of him. 

It also means he's that much more annoyed at the sudden interruption of his ringtone, sounding from his cellphone on the nightstand. The one with bat-level decryption, and a number that a mere handful of people know. Dammit. He should have turned that off; he did remember to turn off his other phone.

Midnighter leans back, hefting an eyebrow. What he doesn't do is take his hand out from Dick's briefs. Nope. He actually _squeezes_. “You gonna answer that?” 

“It's Tim's ringtone,” Dick says apologetically, clenching his legs together to stop him. “I signed out for the night. He wouldn't call unless it's an emergency.” 

“Well then,” Midnighter says. He licks his lips, eyes half-lidded, gives Dick another stroke before he releases him, and Dick winces with regret at their plans for the rest of the night – which are most likely about to be thoroughly ruined. 

But he's also not going to put his libido above his duty, so he takes a long, grounding breath and swipes to take the call just in time before it can go to voicemail. “You're interrupting. I just want you to know that right from the start,” he says by the way of hello. 

“I know it's date night,” replies Tim, and he sounds a bit sheepish, but also earnest, serious. Stressed. “But we're stretched thin tonight and I tracked a 911 call from a group of three teenagers earlier this weekend, and now I caught chatter that the cops responding to it also vanished, and I think someone should go check it out.” 

Dick sighs. There was a slim chance he'd turn Tim down on whatever he wanted him to take care of, anyway, but missing teenagers and cops in over their heads, of course he's going to take that one. “Send me the data. I'll update you once I'm there.” 

Tim thanks him and disconnects the call, and Dick turns his attention back to Midnighter, who is now watching him with his head propped up on one arm. “So does that mean you're gonna take me out for a field trip tonight? How romantic.” 

“You don't have to join me,” Dick says, rolling his eyes at the other's teasing grin. “I wouldn't assume – “

Midnighter shakes his head, his expression sobering a bit, although he swiftly belies that when he reaches out to dance his fingertips over Dick's bare thigh. “Of course I'm coming with. Like hell I'd stay here to watch bad nighttime TV in my underwear and scratch my balls while you go rescue a bunch of teenagers without backup.” 

Of course he wouldn't do _that_. Dick sighs, and Midnighter reaches out again, wrapping his other hand around Dick's neck and pulling him closer. They share another kiss, this one slower, and then Midnighter rearranges them so that Dick is flat on his back and he's straddling Dick's hips. He holds Dick's eyes while he tugs at the waistband of Dick's underwear. 

“What are you doing?” Dick inquires, which edges out into a shuddering moan when Midnighter runs the heel of his hand over Dick's half-mast erection. 

“Making sure we’ll be able to focus on the job out there, not on the things we didn’t yet get to do tonight,” he replies, voice still infuriatingly even. He grins down at Dick, the gleam in his eyes almost predatory, and then pinches the wet fabric near the head of Dick's cock, the material soaked through from half an hour of steadily leaking precome into it. “We'll have to shower and change anyway. You smell...” He leans in to sniff at Dick's neck, lick the sensitive skin below his jaw. “Deliciously filthy.” 

Dick closes his eyes, sucks his lower lip between his teeth and bites down just enough to draw his mind's focus away from below his belt, if only for a moment. “We should hurry – “

“I can make it quick,” Midnighter interrupts. He's working his hand _inside_ Dick's briefs again, and Dick involuntarily arches off the bed at the renewed intimate touch. “It'll only be a few minutes.” 

With that, he lowers his own briefs enough to expose his cock, which is still – or again – standing at full attention. He inches forward and rolls his hips, rubbing himself against Dick, and inclines his head, and fuck, but Dick's only human. Tim has been monitoring the case for _days_ before he decided it needs checking out. They can take a few extra minutes before they get going. 

Instead of a verbal reply, Dick reaches down, wriggling out of his underwear until it sits just below his balls, and pushes upwards. Midnighter smirks, and, as advertised, doesn't waste any time. He wraps his hand around both of them and starts stroking them off together, rough and hard and fast right out of the gate and with a vicious, very effective twist on every upstroke that takes Dick's breath away. 

 

*** 

 

The old estate sits in complete darkness. No one lives here anymore, not in several decades. It used to be a boarding school, built at a time when Gotham was young and thriving and enjoyed a reputation for being shiny and rich and vibrant, a place full of promises and opportunities. Now it's one of the many derelict forgotten properties on the outskirts of the city. Although, well. Maybe a little less forgotten than others. 

“Why the fuck would a bunch of teenagers spend their precious Friday night _here_?” Midnighter asks, squinting at the large main building that's typical for early Gotham architecture: looking a bit like something cut out of the Parisian old town, except with even more extravagant carvings and decorations. It would fit right in with all the gargoyles crowding downtown Gotham, adding to its sinister atmosphere. 

“When I was their age,” Dick explains, “it was a common dare. You know, the kind of shit high school kids get up to when they've grown out of hide and seek and tree houses but aren't yet at the age for parties.” Not like _he_ spent much of his childhood playing hide and seek, or ever had a tree house, but hey, fine print. He still knew about this school. 

Midnighter scowls at him for a moment, then goes back to scanning the old building. “Yeah. No. Can't relate.” 

“In any case, I never heard about any actual disappearances,” Dick says, setting his lenses to night vision as soon as they're out of range of the streetlights and mentally kicking himself for that comment. Yeah. Of course someone who doesn't remember his childhood or adolescence wouldn't _know_ about either of these things. “There was a rumor about a boy who went missing in the Twenties or something, not long before they shut it down, but there's always rumors with places like this.” 

“Good to know you haven't bought into it,” says Midnighter, marching ahead and throwing Dick a grin over his shoulder. “For a second you had me worried you might believe in ghost stories.” 

 

*** 

 

All they find, for the first fifteen minutes of wandering the echoing halls, are rats and some scared-up swallows that had been nesting in the beams. The whole building stinks of animal feces and mildew, and Dick is increasingly tempted to text Tim a raised middle finger emoji and return home to pick up where they left off. But pranks like that aren't quite Tim's style – that's more Jason's footprint, and current truce aside, a team-up like that just to get the better of him is not impossible but still a ways into the future. 

Next to him, Midnighter clears his throat, and Dick braces himself for a comment on the futility of this whole endeavor, of having to defend Tim's intentions the same way he just did to himself. But his tone isn't teasing or joking when he speaks. “There's something strange about this place.” 

And that is alarming in a whole other way, because vague statements like that, on the job, aren't quite Midnighter's style. He doesn't have to use _something_. He tends to know what's shifty or out of place. His voice sounds strained, too, a bit confused, and the realization makes an uneasy feeling swarm through Dick's belly. “What do you mean?” 

“I don't _know_ ,” comes the reply, the last word spit out like a curse. “I can't see what's going on. I can parse you, same as always, but the rest is fucking dark.” 

There's a theory on the tip of Dick's tongue, asking whether he thinks it might be a blocker, but they've encountered those before and if that were the case, he'd just have said so. Dick swallows the question and is about to reach out and motion for the flashlight they brought, for no other reason than to buy some time and reach for a distraction, when something crashes to the ground on the floor above them, hard enough that the decrepit structure of the ceiling quakes, dust puffing out from underneath the creaking beams. 

They exchange a glance and start off running, up the stairs and around the corner, when there's another crash. The source becomes evident seconds later. 

One of the missing police officers is sailing through the air like someone's playing baseball with their limp body, and Dick's heart clenches as he watches the young woman hit the ground a third time, giving a sick oomph-like sound. He holds his breath, worried they're witnessing the misuse of corpse, that they're already too late, but her chest starts heaving in an irregular rhythm seconds after she hits the ground, and she shakily pushes herself to her feet. She's bleeding from cuts on her cheek and temple, her uniform is in disarray – covered in dirt and grime and torn in places – but she's not _dead_. 

“Is that all you got?” she screams, looking around, and then startles when she catches sight of the two of them. “Oh no. No. You have to leave while you still can. It's not safe here, it'll find you too, it will – “

That's as far as she gets before Midnighter gives Dick's hand a quick tug and then takes off running, swooping her and Dick into a _door_ to reemerge outside the building. 

 

*** 

 

Officer Sadersky, as she introduces herself, seems to take both the masks and the teleporting in stride. Not that much of a stretch anymore, after a day of being thrown around by an unknown entity, Dick guesses. She wipes the blood from her face with her dirtied sleeve and frowns at it after, gritting her teeth. 

“What happened in there?” Dick tries, gently, and hands her an antiseptic wipe from the first aid kit that Midnighter fluttered off to organize in the meantime. 

She smiles gratefully at both of them, one after the other, and starts dabbing at her face again. “My partner and I responded to a call last night. We didn't find anyone here when we arrived, and at first we both thought it was a prank. Annoying, but common enough.” She pauses, takes a breath. “Then Tom... it _took_ him. One minute we were talking about how long we'd wait until we'd go back to the car, and the next, it pulled his legs out from under him and dragged him away. I haven't seen him since, and it started... playing with me soon after.” 

Dick lets her take another deep breath, looks politely away when a few silent tears roll down her face, washing clear tracks through the drying blood she hasn't yet managed to clear away, before he prompts her to continue. “Did you see anything else? Do you know what _it_ is? Have you seen the kids?” 

Sadersky clasps a hand over her mouth, stifling a sob. Dick knows that effect; bravery and adrenaline last as long as they're needed and necessary, but as soon as they recede, the shock rolls in, and it rolls in hard. 

She shakes her head. “No. I spent the last day or so playing cat and mouse with that thing, but I haven't seen anyone else.” 

“You did good,” Dick assures her, hovering his hand over her upper arm and patting it carefully when she doesn't flinch away. “My friend will get you to a hospital now, or back to your precinct. Whatever you like.” 

Midnighter nods at her and ushers her towards another, newly opened _door_ , and then gives Dick a sharp look. “Don't you dare run back in there alone while I'm gone. I'll just be a minute. _Literally._ Even you can sit on your hands for that long.” 

Dick glares back at him on mere principle, but mock-salutes and lowers himself into a crouch. A pissed off ghost won't have anything on the glacial mood Midnighter can get into when he's worried and annoyed, and Dick's still planning on getting properly laid at some point in the next twelve hours. “Fine. I'll wait.” 

 

***

 

They wander around the school's hallways for a good half an hour, but the ghost – Dick is going to call it that in his own head, thank you very much, he's got to call it something and Midnighter will never have to know – doesn't show again. No more crashes, no other suspicious noises, not even cold spots or involuntarily raised neck hairs from a malicious presence. Dick is starting to suspect that the horror movies he liked as a kid have altogether lied to him. Maybe he should call Constantine for a beginner's course on the topic, in lieu of more productive ideas. 

Now would be a pretty great time for those enhanced senses and processors in Midnighter's brain to lead the way and sniff out traces of the ghost, but Midnighter remains suspiciously silent. He doesn't complain about uselessly pacing up and down the dank hallways, doesn't joke, and instead of the laser-focused attention he usually displays in situations like these – processing his environment, in the exact technical sense of the word – he's glancing around aimlessly. It's disconcerting, made worse by the fact that Dick isn't exactly used to worrying about Midnighter in the field, at least not unless they're fighting on a much larger scale than this. Daily Gotham vigilante business tends to be small potatoes for him. 

“Are you getting anything?” Dick tries, an attempt to break the silence. 

Midnighter's head whips around, his gaze only focusing on Dick with a moment's delay, as if he has trouble recognizing his voice or identifying the direction it came from. Worry shivers down Dick's spine like a cold, clammy hand. 

“Apart from a headache, no.” He sighs, runs a hand down the part of his face that's not covered by the cowl, and Dick wishes he could at least see his eyes right now. “But I think I figured out what's causing this, at least.” 

Dick watches as his eyes flicker to a window they just passed, watches him shake his head and sigh again, slow to refocus his attention on Dick's face. When he doesn't continue on his own, Dick prompts him with a quiet, “And? What is it?” 

“What?” Midnighter shakes his head, and this time the noise he makes is less of a sigh and more of a frustrated snarl. “It's not like my senses have gone dark, like I thought. There's _too much_ input. Weird input. It makes no sense, and it's coming from every direction.” 

“So your computer is freezing up?” Dick ventures, and then, because he's physically incapable of passing up a stupid joke when it shoots into his head, especially when it might break a solemn mood, he adds, “Have you tried turning it off and then back on again?” 

That earns him a tired glare, but at least there's the hint of a fond smile to go with it. “Hilarious.” 

“I could try and knock you out,” Dick chatters on. “Shouldn't be too hard if you're down to your regular five senses, I might not even break a sweat, and – “ He falls silent, because he's heard something. They've come back around to the ground floor, and there's a faint, quiet sound from underneath the staircase, almost like a whimper. “Did you hear that?” 

Midnighter rolls his eyes and honest-to-god groans at him, and Dick just holds up a hand, then puts a finger to his lips. Quiet and careful, he inches towards the staircase, listening for the sound to happen again, and peers into the dark space. His lenses adjust to the even more impenetrable darkness, and there they are: the three missing teenagers, huddled together, holding hands. 

Dick takes another step forward and opens his mouth to speak, but before he can get the first word out something knocks the wind out of him, sends him flying backwards. Immediately, Midnighter steps in front of where he's ended up, curled on the floor with a stinging tailbone and a lingering pressure in his chest that makes breathing difficult, and there's a flurry of voices: Midnighter is yelling, and at least two of the teenagers are shouting back at him. 

It takes Dick a moment to piece together what they're saying, but as soon as it clicks into place, he leans forward, reaching for Midnighter's hand, tugging him back. “There's two of them.” 

Midnighter turns, looking down at him. “Did you land on your head, I'm counting three – “ 

“No.” Dick waves a hand towards the staircase, then realizes that's not helping his case any. “I mean, there's two ghosts. The one that beat up Sadersky and her partner, and this one. It's protecting them. It thought I was trying to harm them.” 

Someone swallows audible in the sudden silence, and one of the teenagers, a girl with a high ponytail, pokes her head around the edge of the staircase. “Are you here to get us out?” 

“Yep,” Dick says, and in turn leans around Midnighter's leg to smile at her, trying for calm and reassuring. “We are.” 

 

*** 

 

They coax the teenagers out from under the staircase, equip the ponytailed girl with the flashlight, and then they take the rear on their way to the main entrance and, thereby, towards safety. Dick waits for Midnighter to bring up the topic of their relocation to Sadersky's police station, to a hospital, or simply back home to their parents, but the other stays silent. 

“You wanna wait until we're outside before you portal them out of here?” he eventually ventures himself. 

Midnighter audibly swallows. He makes small circular motions at his temple, with one finger, but keeps his gaze straight ahead. “I don't think that's happening.” 

Dick looks him over on the sly, trying not to be obvious about it, and winces internally at what he sees now that he's paying closer attention. The sight is so uncharacteristic it's damn near painful, even though Midnighter still manages to be subtle about it, might look not much worse for the wear to untrained eyes, but Dick sees the tense lines around his eyes and mouth, the gritted teeth, the slight hunch in his posture, the way he blinks every time he looks towards the light of the flashlight. That's agony. That's vulnerability shoved on someone who's not used to it anymore, has long since forgotten how to handle the sensation. 

“It's fine, I'll get someone who can take them home,” Dick says, and reaches up to activate his comm. 

Thankfully, Tim doesn't ask why Dick needs a pickup when he's got his teleporting boyfriend with him. Dick gives him a quick report on their situation, omitting the state of the Midnighter, and Tim informs him that he'll send someone around shortly. 

Dick parrots as much at Midnighter, then falls back a few steps further from the teenagers, touches Midnighter's arm to make him slow down as well. “After we got them out, we still have to find Sadersky's partner.”

Head cocked, Midnighter stares back and him. “I know. And?” 

Dick picks at the hem of his gloves and clears his throat. He takes another look at the lines of pain and discomforted painted onto the other's whole body, knows the suggestion he's about to make might not be well received, taken the wrong way. He still has to make it; everything else would feel selfish. 

“You don't have to come back in with me,” he says, makes an effort not to rush the words. “You can wait outside, give your head, your systems, a little rest.” Dick smiles, shrugs his shoulders. “If I really can't hack it in here alone, I'll, I dunno. Scream or something.” 

Midnighter stares at him for a moment, somewhat affronted, and yeah, that's about the reaction Dick would have bet on. “No,” he says. “No way.” 

Then he scoffs and starts walking faster again, catching up with the teens. Dick stares after him for a moment; he had to ask, even if he knew the answer. 

 

*** 

 

As soon as the car comes into view, Dick know who's driving it. They really must be swamped tonight if both Tim and Bruce gave Damian enough leeway for him to manage to steal his and Dick's old batmobile _again_. 

Damian rolls the driver's side window down as soon as he sees Dick approaching, and Dick can't quite suppress the disapproving glare. “You snatched the car.” 

“So?” Damian asks, puffing out his chest, both hands on the steering wheel. “You said you needed transport for the civilians. What did you expect, that I'd arrive on a bicycle? Or with a horse carriage?” 

What Dick expected is a driver whose voice has already broken. He keeps that to himself, but dials his stern glare up a notch. “Fine. Here's what I want you to do. Are you listening?” 

By the way of a reply, Damian quirks an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. 

“You drive them to a hospital, get the police there, and don't leave until they all called their parents,” Dick instructs. Damian nods, and yeah, this isn't the part Dick expected him to register his protests on. “And then you come back here, but you stay in the car. Do you understand? You will not enter the building. I don't want you to leave this car, no matter what you think is happening inside the school. Is that clear?” 

Damian takes a moment to chew on the inside of his cheek and Dick steels himself for an argument, but then the kid nods. He's glanced away from Dick, to Midnighter who's waiting with the kids, hovering over them like he himself is a vengeful spirit dead-set on protecting them, and well. Damian is perceptive. He's met Midnighter enough times to figure out when he's off his game. He might have correctly assumed that if _he_ is so rattled by whatever's going on in the school, then Dick's instruction to stay away from it might not be unreasonable. That hopefully means he might even obey, if only for the first fifteen or twenty minutes. 

Dick waves for Midnighter to herd the teenagers over, watches them file into the car, and smirks when they murmur about the driver being younger than them, which in turn makes Damian bristle. Dick winks at him, and if he were raised a little differently, Damian might have flipped him the bird, but of course, being who he is, he would never lower himself to such obscene behavior. 

That dealt with, Dick nudges Midnighter's shoulder while they're both staring back at the school. It somehow seems a lot more sinister now than it did when they first arrived. “You ready to go back in?” 

“Sure,” Midnighter says, and his voice almost hits the right level of cocksure. “Might as well, since my headache hasn't lessened that much out here either.”

 

*** 

 

Dick's starting to lose track of how much time they've spent wandering around these hallways tonight. In an odd mindset too, somewhere between constant alert and borderline boredom. Either of the ghosts could strike any moment, or they could turn their noses up at them and never reveal themselves. They haven't yet, not directly, only through the other hostages. Maybe they don't like capes or vigilantes. Maybe the mean one prefers its prey unprepared and afraid. 

Yet again, they've circled around to the main hallway, and for once Dick takes the time to look at the framed photos by the door, read the engravings and captions beneath them. Some of them are class pictures or portraits of the teachers, with some sports events and contests strewn in. He stops at the last one, a dude with a long twirled mustache, looking at the camera with a stiff, stern gaze. _Dr. Henry Cordon_ , it reads, _Principal since 1911_. 

Dick wanders back, now under Midnighter's questioning glance. He holds one hand up to him, gesturing for him to wait a moment, and tracks the other captions with one finger hovering in the air above them. The other principals and teachers have start and end dates attached to them, which means.... He taps his comm. “Hey Robin,” he says. “Can you look something up for me real quick?” 

Damian grumbles – as was to expected, after Dick benched him – but he's neither petulant nor unprofessional enough to deny Dick a request like that. “What do you need?” 

“Can you pull up old articles about why this place closed? What happened? When? And was someone named Henry Cordon involved?” 

He hears Damian type, and barely a minute later he's back with the information. “There was a fire in the summer of 1918. Cordon had been pocketing donations and grants meant for repairs to update the school's infrastructure, and faulty wiring caused the fire in one of their dormitories. Most of the children were home for the break, and they got it under control relatively quickly, but one boy died.” 

Summer of 1918. A hundred years ago. That can't be a coincidence. “When was the fire? The exact date.” 

Another round of typing, and then Dick can hear Damian suck in the air between his teeth. “July 27. That's three days ago.” 

“Thanks,” Dick says, and then, just in case, “And I mean what I said earlier. You don't come in here. I'll make sure your father grounds you for at least two weeks if you set one foot into this school tonight, you hear me?” 

There's a typical displeased huff, but Damian confirms, and Dick disconnects the comm line again. He turns to Midnighter. “If my teenage years spent watching Scream and Final Destination and I Know What You Did Last Summer have taught me anything, then I'm pretty sure we just found out who our ghosts are.” 

Midnighter gives him a lopsided smile. “Oh yeah, so _that's_ how you've spent your teenage years, boy wonder? The Bat thing was more of an occasional hobby, then?” 

The faint breathless tremor in his voice makes Dick's heart clench, renews his resolve to get this over with as quickly as possible so they can _leave_. But he plays along, knowing that pity or open concern would only make things worse, and flips Midnighter the bird before he wanders off in search of a site map to figure out where they might find the principal's office. 

 

*** 

 

The late Dr. Cordon's office is somehow creepier than the rest of the building. Maybe that's only because now he's seen the actual person who sat behind the sturdy old oak desk last, who may have picked the paintings of hunting scenes on the wall, and who decided, right here, overlooking the football field from the window behind said desk, that money was more important to him than the safety of the children left in his care. 

Predictably, the office has mostly been cleared out, but Dick didn't come here to search for evidence on crimes committed a century ago anyway. For one thing, he'd hoped the place where the ghost spent his time as a living human being would also have some clues as to where he'd put Tom, Sadersky's missing partner. For another, he's looking for mementos. So far, though, he's come up empty on both counts, as well, and he's getting increasingly frustrated. The pained exhales he can hear from the other side of the room, where Midnighter is filing through the couple books left on a shelf let into the wall, aren't helping with that. 

Dick bites down on another inquiry as to how his boyfriend's doing – not too well, that much is obvious – and asks instead, “Found anything?” 

“Well, apparently the shithead was a teacher's pet when he himself was a student,” Midnighter replies, waving an old dusty tome about... something on education. “This one's got a personal note from his professor, and it sure sounds like he had asslicking down to a science.” 

Dick sniggers, seizing the opportunity to lighten the mood, offer a distraction. “I could make a comment about how you're not too bad at _asslicking_ yourself, but now's not the time, is it?” 

“Imagine though,” Midnighter sighs, clearly exaggerated, for effect. “Had it not been for your meddling family, that's what we could have been doing right now. You on all fours, me opening you up all slow and – “

That's as far as he gets before an earsplitting scream rips through the building, and both their attention is captured by trying to puzzle out the direction it came from. Dick sees Midnighter looking around, as lost as he is, and the sight will never not be painful. He doesn't have time to get hung up on that, though. 

“Take the book with you,” he yells as he runs out of the principal's office and tugs at Midnighter's coat to make him follow. “I'll explain why later.” 

They're running down the hallway when the scream sounds a second time, and judging from how much closer it sounds they're running in the right direction. The room they end up in looks like a science lab, full of wooden work tables and cabinets, the latter still stocked with glasses that have handwritten labels on them from a hundred years ago. The equipment on the tables is dusty and rusted in places, but there are still burners and braziers and mounts for vials and glasses on some of them. 

And strung up above the whiteboard, a thin rope around his neck, is Tom. He's looks much like Sadersky, bruised and bleeding from cuts in various places, and right now he's clawing at the rope with both hands. Something is tugging at the rope from above, then all of a sudden punches him to the side and sends him reeling, and he screams again, his eyes screwed closed, the sound higher and more croaked than before. 

Dick turns to Midnighter, motions with his hand. “The book. Give me the book.” 

Midnighter squints at him, but he tosses him the book, and Dick sends a quick prayer to whatever deity might be in charge here and then lunges for the nearest work table. He riffles through the drawer tucked underneath until he finds an old lighter. It's a rather desperate attempt, hoping against hope, and he's not actually surprised when he finds it doesn't ignite. He's trying to remember some chemistry from high school, or from Bruce's lessons, but it's not really his favorite topic and neither ever really covered impromptu arson. 

“Hey,” Midnighter yells from behind him, and Dick wheels around just in time to catch the cheap, modern plastic lighter he tosses his way. Dick raises an eyebrow and Midnighter shrugs. “Deep pockets. Lots of useful stuff. Next time maybe just ask?” 

Dick doesn't waste anymore time, sets the book alight and drops it in one of the braziers. 

For a few seconds, nothing happens, but then there's a wailing noise, almost like a scream too but thinner, more distant, unnaturally high pitched. A figure becomes visible above the whiteboard, holding the rope that's wrapped around Tom's throat – or held it, because in that very moment, the thing drops the rope in order to cover what Dick assumes is its ears with its hands. Midnighter starts for Tom, now coughing and writhing on the floor, and Dick watches as the thing – the ghost – begins to glow like embers, wailing louder, and louder, and then falling silent as it fades from existence with the last remains of the book. 

He waits until the flames in the bowl have died down before he takes his eyes off it and walks over to Midnighter, who's now got an arm around Tom's shoulders to hold him up. 

“Where'd you get that one from?” Midnighter asks as they start for the door. 

“My grandmother died when I was maybe five or six,” Dick says. “And I remember my mother burning some of her personal belongings and giving others away to strangers in order to keep her spirit from lingering. Figured it's worth a try.” 

Midnighter huffs a laugh. “So basically a long shot.” 

“Worked, didn't it?” says Dick, shrugging. “I'll send someone around to put the kid's ghost to rest, too, but I don't think we have to worry about him much in the meantime.” 

He joins Midnighter in propping Tom up, supporting him from the other side while they help him down the stairs, and he can't even be too surprised when they nearly walk into Damian on the way down. Kid's seen the fire through the windows, he assumes. In all honesty, when he was Robin, Dick would have taken that as his cue to rush to the rescue as well. 

 

***

 

It's past sunrise when they return to Dick's apartment, the sun streaming in through the blinds, and shedding their work getup happens almost on autopilot. Dick hasn't had a wink of sleep in nearly twenty-four hours – not like that's a novelty – and even Midnighter looks unusually worn and exhausted for a change. Once they're down to their underwear, the pieces of their respective suits strewn on the floor behind them, Dick steps forward and loops his arms around Midnighter's waist, breathes in the thick leather scent still clinging to his skin, and presses a kiss to the side of his neck. 

“The headache any better?” he asks, and he turns his head just in time to see Midnighter briefly screw his eyes shut, which means the chances that he'll get an honest answer to that are slim. 

Midnighter nudges Dick to release him, and as soon as Dick has done so, he takes a step towards the couch. “All systems online and working.” 

He smirks, and Dick doesn't point out that that's not what he asked. He lets him lead the way, flops down next to him as soon as he's gotten comfortable, and curls in close. Midnighter murmurs a token protest, but he lets him be, and, after a diversionary maneuver to fish the remote off the coffee table, he settles with his arm around Dick, thumb playing with the hair at the nape of Dick's neck. 

Dick nudges him with his nose, grins at him when Midnighter looks down to meet his eyes. “Funny, I remember you being rather dismissive about sitting on the couch, in front of the TV, in your underwear, just a few hours ago.” 

Midnighter lets out a long breath, then tugs Dick back down so that he's yet again resting against his chest. “I'm not doing it alone. That's different. Now shut up and get some sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> The backstory for the ghosts contains mentions of a minor's violent death (a student dying in a fire because the principal didn't want to pay for needed repairs).
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> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacenerdz).


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